“What do we do?” I ask in horror. When it sounded like the forest was breaking all around us, Adam rushed us inside.
Ice.
The ice is breaking the limbs left and right.
And apparently, it’s the source of our sudden power outage.
“We ride it out until the power company gets it restored,” he grumbles.
I’m soaked from the snow and shivering. Without the blaring heater on, it’s drafty in the cabin. No heat. This is the worst.
“Take your clothes off,” he demands, his voice husky.
I snap my attention his way as he tosses logs into the fireplace. “W-What?”
“Get out of those wet clothes, Elma. You’ll catch pneumonia.” His back is turned to me and I’m embarrassed I’d assumed his words meant something else altogether.
I fumble through the fairly dark cabin until I get into the bedroom. My phone is lit up on the bed and I snatch it up. With frozen fingers, I read through the many texts from my old friends. I find one from Zane that has me smiling.
Zane: Where do you live? My dad has ATVs. I could come get you.
Yesterday, I never mentioned to him I’m living with our principal. For some reason, I wanted to keep that information to myself.
Me: Outside of town by the lake. It’s too cold anyway.
He replies instantly.
Zane: Wussy.
I stick my tongue out at the phone but then notice my battery life is depleted after Rita’s incessant texting. Apparently she’s having a boy crisis. Or boys crises. The one she kissed last night saw her kissing someone else between classes earlier this morning. Now, the boy from yesterday called her a slut.
Rita kind of is a slut.
I snort and reply to her.
Me: Sorry, honey.
Rita: Late much? Were you ignoring me?
I roll my eyes. Rita is demanding.
Me: No, we had a snow day here. I was playing outside.
Rita: Ew. No. We’re going to the beach later today.
I have a pang of jealousy that I won’t get to go swimming with my friend, but then I realize hanging out with Adam isn’t the worst.
Me: Have fun, babe. Talk later.
I toss my phone on the bed and worry that if we don’t get the power restored soon, I won’t have any link to the outside world. I’ll be stuck in this cabin with Adam as my only source of entertainment.
Heat surges through me.
Again, not the worst thing to happen to me.
Quickly, I shed my soaked clothes and throw on something warmer. I’ve just slipped out of the room to find Adam standing in front of the fire with no shirt on. I stare in shock. His back muscles are flexed and decorated in colorful ink. The sweatpants he dons are hanging low on his hips. A shirt is fisted in his grip and the other hand reaches for the blazing flames.
“Hey,” I squeak out, my eyes glued to his perfect body.
He turns and I get a glorious view of his chest. More tattoos. Muscles galore. What has me speechless, though, is the way his oblique muscles seem to make a path pointing straight to the bulge in his sweatpants. The same bulge that was hard earlier this morning when it was pressed against me. I bite my bottom lip and meet his gaze.
“That doesn’t look very warm,” he grunts and runs his fingers through his hair. His bicep flexes and I wonder about what it’d be like to lick it.
“I could say the same.” I motion at his bare chest with my palm.
He yanks his shirt on over his head and before I know it, his perfect torso is no longer on display. Stupid me and my stupid words.
“You need pants on.” His jaw clenches as he pins me with a hard stare.
“Shorts are fine. I have long socks on,” I argue.
He rolls his eyes and saunters over to a bag in the corner. When he bends over to rummage in it, I get a prime view of his hard ass. I stare at it, suppressing a moan. My drooling gets interrupted when he tosses sweatpants at me.
“I’ll put them on if I get cold.” I flash him a fake smile before prancing over to the fireplace and warm my hands in front of the flickering flames.
He walks up beside me and mimics my action. Our arms brush against each other. I shiver, but it’s not from cold. It’s from anticipation. He misunderstands, though, and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Put the pants on.”
“I’m fine. You’re bossy.”
I expect him to argue but instead, he wraps an arm around me and pulls me to his side under the guise of warming me up. I settle against his solid body, inhaling his manly scent.
“How are you holding up?” he asks suddenly.
I stiffen at his question. “I’m good.”
“Not…not about being here.” His fingers tighten around my hip. “About your mom.”
A choked sound escapes me. All it takes is one mention of her and tears are stinging my eyes. My chest physically aches as though the pain is all trapped up inside without any chance of escape. Some days, I just want to cut it out of me. “It hurts.”
I’m surprised I uttered those truthful words. Dad has asked a few times, but I always put on a brave face for him because I know he’s hurting too. With Adam, it’s safe to just let it out.
“I’m sorry, Elma.”
A tear slips from my eye and slides down my cheek. I sniffle and shrug. “It’s okay.”
He pulls me to him for a real hug. Being in his strong, sweet embrace does something to me. I feel a crack. Right down the center of my chest. As though, if I’ll let him, he’ll have the power to crack me right open and help pull the pain from me. A sob chokes me and he squeezes me tighter. His fingers run through my still wet hair and he kisses the top of my head. It’s all so intimate and gentle. Since I’ve met him, I’ve seen him go through a myriad of emotions. Mostly, he tries to keep his distance with growls and frowns. But sometimes, he surprises me with bright smiles and glimpses of his vulnerability.
Instead of feeding me words that don’t help anyway, he simply holds me. I melt in his arms and pray the moment never ends. It’s been forever since I felt secure and cared for. Mom is gone and Dad has mentally checked out. Adam fills a hole that has been empty for some time now.
“Have you ever thought about playing softball?” he asks, his voice gruff but gentle.
“I used to play when I was in middle school but…” My chest aches.
“But what?”
“I started playing volleyball in the ninth grade. It was our thing. Me and Mom. She was like the honorary team mom. Everyone loved her.” My words come out as a whisper. Now that I’m talking about her, I don’t want to stop. Tears steadily stream down my cheeks and I know I’m soaking his shirt with them.
“She was lovely. The few times I met her, I thought she was an amazing woman. Much too amazing to be with the likes of your daddy,” he teases with a chuckle.
I let out a small laugh. “Daddy always said she was too good for him, but he just got lucky. He’d tease that she was the one with the bad luck.” My smile falls. “Turns out he was right because she got cancer.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
I cry softly against his chest. I feel stupid, but the release of all the pent-up pain inside of me is freeing. Rita never wanted to talk about my mom because she said it was depressing. To satisfy her, I didn’t talk about how sad I was around her. She, being my best friend, tried to distract me with boys and jokes and trips to the mall.
“I miss her,” I say, my voice cracking.
He strokes my hair. “I know you do.”
Once I’ve calmed and all that can be heard is the occasional hiccup from my crying, he speaks again.
“Did you leave volleyball back in Florida?”
My heart clenches. “It didn’t feel right without Mom on the sidelines.”
His fingers tangle in my hair and he tugs until I’m staring up at his brutally handsome face. With the light flickering on the side of his face, I can see the scars better. The flesh is slightly mottled and shadows dance in the indentions that aren’t as noticeable during the day. I can’t help but reach up and palm his cheek. He flinches and closes his eyes.
“What happened?”
His eyes reopen and a pained expression is etched on his face. “The past. It tried to kill me. I won.” He clenches his jaw and looks away.
My heart stutters and aches. I’ve just bled out feelings in front of him, but he isn’t opening up at all. “I see.”
His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls my hand from his face. “It’s a story you don’t want to hear. But I owe him.” His green eyes blaze into mine. “Everything. I owe him my life.”
I blink up at him. “Who? Daddy?”
As if being showered with a bucket of icy water, he shudders and jerks away from me. “Yeah,” he grunts. “You hungry?”
My shoulders slump in defeat. It turns out I’m not the only one guarding their heart. I wonder if I’ll ever get to hear that story.